


Nameless

by SeiShonagon



Series: Support [4]
Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Affection, Angst, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Racism, Trust, Trust Kink, Vulnerability, Wrists, antiziganism, episode tag: s1e02: The Darkness Beneath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 21:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3502616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeiShonagon/pseuds/SeiShonagon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wrestles with some of the issues at the end of "The Darkness Beneath." John loses that match pretty badly. Fortunately, Chas is there to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nameless

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my "Support" series, which assumes that the episodes happened in the order they were originally planned, so "Rage of Caliban" has already happened.

Chas is concerned when John enters the mill house almost silently and moves past him without speaking to drop his bags and curl up on the sofa. He is downright scared when John reaches for a fresh pack of cigarettes and his lighter, but upon discovering them out of reach simply gives up and attempts to sleep.

Chas putters around the kitchen, watching John out of the corner of his vision. He doesn’t seem to be injured, just exhausted far beyond what the trip from Pennsylvania can explain. John sleeps restlessly, turning and muttering angrily.

Dinner preparations are brought up short when anger clearly turns to something else, a strange mix of fear and sadness, perhaps, and when John’s breath hitches Chas decides enough is enough. He’s seen enough of John’s nightmares to know they only get worse as they continue, so he throws a damp towel over his shoulder and moves to wake him.

He isn’t quite fast enough, apparently, because John gasps awake with a curse, sitting bolt upright so suddenly that Chas has to jerk backward to avoid a collision. He takes a few moments before he speaks, taking huge gulping breaths of air as if he’d been drowning, or buried.

That’s a new feature, Chas thinks. It must be related to whatever happened in Pennsylvania, then. John had called ahead to explain that a woman named Zed might join them sometime in the next few days, but hadn’t mentioned anything about her that might explain this kind of nightmare.

John seems to be calming himself down reasonably well, so Chas sits next to him on the couch and waits for him to talk if he wants. He reaches out to brush some sweat-damp hair out of John’s face, and when John leans slightly into the touch he completes the motion, carding his fingers through the smaller man’s hair all the way to his nape.

It feels like John has some sort of sand in his hair. Chas wrinkles his nose when his fingers come back dirty with grains of black dust. He tries to lighten the mood by saying, “I don’t even want to know what places you’ve managed to get coal into.”

John chuckles, but mirthlessly. His next words have the characteristic lilt of quoting someone, “Coal, it gets into everything.” He pauses, then continues in a lower tone, “It always takes a few days to get it all out.” He smiles mockingly, and Chas can tell it’s one of those self-directed edges, as he says, “Smells of home, I’m sure.”

Oh, Hell. Chas has never met John’s father – fortunately for both of them – but he’s heard enough over the years. He can imagine that being back in a coal town can’t have been easy, and it suddenly seems ridiculous to hold back after the recent steps they’ve taken. He reaches out and pulls the other man to him, ignoring the somewhat affronted “Oi!” at being manhandled.

He lets John settle himself comfortably, before asking, “Just to be sure, this isn’t about this Zed woman, is it?”

He feels John’s head-shake tight beneath his chin, and loosens his grip to let the man talk more freely. “Naw, mate, problem this time’s a different woman entirely.” John huffs out a breath, then adds, “We won’t have to worry about her turning up on our doorstep, that’s for sure.”

His words are light, but his tone gives away the gist. Chas waits a moment, then decides to prod. It’ll be better to get this out now, than to leave it for John to wallow in later. At least this way if he decides to drown his sorrows in alcohol this evening Chas can make sure he also eats something and observes a modicum of safety practices.

“What happened?” he asks.

The story comes out haltingly. At first, Chas doesn’t see the issue. John has never been one to sob over the fate of his enemies, and this woman definitely falls in that category. It’s clear that John had few options when confronting her, but it’s eating at him nonetheless, and as John concludes, it suddenly becomes abundantly clear why.

“…And so her bastard of a husband came to fetch her, and did me the favor of taking her with him back to Hell.”

God, there’s nothing he can say to that, is there – it’s not like John had a choice, but he knows that, and it doesn’t help. Not when Hell and abuse are all bound up together in this woman’s fate. At least he can offer John the favor of not making him explain the issue if he doesn’t want to. So he just murmurs, “I’m sorry,” and tightens his hold a little, wrapping his arms all the way around the smaller man and waiting. If John needs to say more, he will.

Sure enough, it’s less than a minute before John’s voice comes again, quieter still. “I didn’t even know her name. I didn’t ask.” And there’s a different kind of guilt there, a kind of shame that’s usually all bound up with his family, so Chas knows there’s more to come.

When all John does is curse himself under his breath for a hypocrite after a minute, Chas pulls back to look at him, surprised. He’s heard John chastise himself for many things, most of them richly deserved; genuine, philosophical hypocrisy is rare in the man, and he knows it.

John pulls away and goes to the refrigerator to get a beer for each of them. They drink in companionable silence for a minute before John glares at his bottle. “Y’ever hear the theory that men grow up to be their fathers?”

Chas snorts. “Somehow I don’t think that’s something you need to worry about.”

John snickers with self-loathing. “Not likely to live to that age, yeah?”

Chas frowns, concerned now that John seems to have turned in such a dark direction. “Not what I meant, and you know it, John. What’s this about?”

“Just. Said some things my dad would have recognized. Might have said himself. Made some… generalizations I’m not proud of.” When Chas is silent, waiting until he has enough information to figure out what the hell John is talking about this time, John clarifies, “I was a racist asshole, all right? Not usually my problem, but I was pissed off and afraid and needed her to feel the same. And it bloody worked, of course.” He takes another drink. “Took a nice page out of my dad’s book, knowing it would rile her, and why. Dad and Lanas would have been kindred spirits.”

Chas decides John probably shouldn’t be drinking, if he’s already trying to draw similarities between himself and his father. He takes the bottle from John’s hands, forestalling resistance by replacing it with his own hands in the other man’s. He moves their joined arms over John’s head, so John is in that posture he often uses to reassure himself, arms crossed across his front, with Chas wrapped around his back.

John’s hands twist in his for comfort, and suddenly Chas is holding his wrists rather than his fingers, and Chas hears him give a full breath out, and _relax_. John seems almost startled by it, but before he can sit up, Chas tightens his grip, and is gratified that after only a slight pause John leans further back into him, letting it happen.

He knows John doesn’t value himself, and doesn’t expect others to value him either. But in moments like this, when John’s rare trust is on display and his affection is on his sleeve, it is easy to see why so many men and women have fallen so hard for the man over the years. He holds himself aloof to such a degree, building walls of words and gestures around himself, and when they fall, they fall suddenly and completely, leaving John completely vulnerable.

Chas finds himself surprisingly moved that John has allowed this between them, has chosen to take this risk.

He buries his face in John’s hair, which to him have come to carry the scents of home.


End file.
